Like the Patterns Made on Lace
by BeauMeris
Summary: Maysilee Donner was chosen as the second girl tribute for the 50th Hunger Games. However, in the grand scheme of things-leading to Peeta and Katniss in the Hunger Games-she has a much bigger part than ever described. A relationship that turns Haymitch Abernathy into what he is in "The Hunger Games" and a strength that not even the Capitol can forget.


_**"**__My next guest is also unexpected. Madge walks straight to me. She is not weepy or evasive, instead there's an urgency about her tone that surprises me. "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" She holds out the circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier. I hadn't paid much attention to it before, but now I see it's a small bird in flight._

_ "Your pin?" I say. Wearing a token from my district is the last thing on my mind.__**"**_

_-Page 38, The Hunger Games_

_**" **__I stepped in closer. My fingers touched the mockingjay. "Even my pin now. Mockingjays are all the rage in the Capitol, thanks to you. Are you sure you don't want it back?" I asked._

_ "Don't be silly, it was a gift," said Madge. She tied back her hair in a festive gold ribbon._

_ "Where did you get it, anyway?" I asked._

_ "It was my aunt's," she said. "But I think it's been in the family a long time.__**"**_

_-Page 91, Catching Fire_

_**" **__By the time we get to District 12, I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids going to certain death. There's a woman, not Effie, calling the names in 12, but she still begins with "Ladies first!" She calls out the name of a girl who's from the Seam, you can tell by the look of her, and then I hear the name "Maysilee Donner." …_

_ "I think that's your mother hugging her," says Peeta quietly. And he's right. As Maysilee Donner bravely disengages herself and heads for the stage, I catch a glimpse of my mother at my age, and no one has exaggerated her beauty. Holding her hand and weeping is another girl who looks just like Maysilee. But a lot like someone else I know, too._

_ "Madge," I say._

_ "That's her mother. She and Maysilee were twins or something," Peeta says. "My dad mentioned it once."_

_ I think of Madge's mother. Mayor Undersee's wife. Who spends half her life in bed immobilized with terrible pain, shutting out the world. I think of how I never realized that she and my mother shared this connection. Of Madge showing up in that snowstorm to bring the painkiller for Gale. Of my mockingjay pin and how it means something completely different now that I know its former owner was Maysilee Donner, a tribute who was murdered in the arena.__**"**_

_-Page 196-97, Catching Fire_

One

In the summer, I don't have to worry about school. Hadley and I spend all day making deliveries and pick-ups for my mother's tailor business. At night, we stitch lace by candlelight or lamplight if we're lucky enough to have electricity.

Living on the edge of the Seam, we're lucky if we get a few hours a week.

Even in the Merchant District where my family lives and works in the small apartment above our shop, it's close to the Seam where the coal miners had lived since the Dark Days. In the mornings, the sunlight is faint in the house because of all the coal dust covering the windows. Outside, it smells like unwashed bodies and desperation. Everytime I take a bite of supper, I feel a bit guilty. I know that there are children out there who go to bed with hunger pains greater than I've ever known.

This morning, Mother lets me off. Hadley is finishing a lace pattern for the mayor. I decide to pay a visit on my friend, Britta Larkin. She lives more towards the center of District 12 where her family owns an apothecary. I slip a few coins into my pocket so that we can get pastries from the bakery later, kiss my mother on the cheek, and walk out of the apartment.

The hot June sun shines on my back, making my neck sweat. I am wearing an orange sundress with cap sleeves and a pair of flat boots that tie around my ankles. Even with the limited clothing, I am sweltering.

The central square of District 12 is packed tight with people. I catch snippets of conversation. Did you hear that this person did this? Did you hear that those people did that? Chatham, one of the Peacekeepers, is standing by the whipping post in the center of the square. I feel bad for him, in that heavy, hot uniform he has to wear. He's one of the nicer Peacekeepers.

I walk into the apothecary and am met by Mr. Larkin, standing behind the counter. "Hello, Maysilee."

I smile. "Hello, Sir. Good day?"

His face is soft. "Beautiful, isn't it? Lots of sunshine."

I'm about to reply when Britta walks in. She's slighter than I am with delicate features and skinny limbs. The only thing nimble about me is my fingers. However, we both have the same blond hair and blue eyes that most of the merchant kids do. Where the Seam kids have grey eyes and dark hair. It makes it easy at school to know who to associate with.

"Mays!" she calls out. She runs up and gives me a huge hug. "It's been so long! You've been working?"

I chuckle, hugging her back. Even for how delicate she is, she's full of fire. "Very hard. Mom and I had to finish a tablecloth for Ekon. He wanted it to be entirely in lace."

Britta's eyes go wide. "You're kidding!"

I shake my head. "Nope. And his table, where the cloth would go, is 9 feet long! The lace pattern was simple, but it took so much time."

"I can _imagine_," she sympathizes. Then, her eyes get wide. "Did you get to meet him?"

Ekon Bomani is as close to a celebrity as an outlying district like 12 ever gets. He won the Hunger Games a few years back at just 12 years old because of his uncanny ability to hear for incredible distances. He was able to ambush the groups of people coming after him and, in the end, used his array of weapons, stolen from the dead tributes to win.

Not to mention, he is incredibly attractive.

Blushing slightly, I nod. "Yeah. I went to deliver his tablecloth. I… I even got to go inside his house."

Britta's jaw drops. "You got to see the inside of a house in the Victor's Village?"

Every district has a neighborhood set aside for winners of the Hunger Games. Then again, in 50 years, we've had just Ekon. Even so, the neighborhood is able to house nearly 100 Victors, should the need ever arise.

"It's so beautiful, Brit," I tell her. "The walls are sky blue with windows everywhere. There's apparently _always_ electricity."

She makes a sound halfway between a moan and a chuckle. "No kidding?"

"And he was so nice! He helped me lay the tablecloth out and said he loved the pattern." I sigh with reminiscence. "I wish I were just a year older; maybe he'd look at me romantically."

Britta laughs. "Or if you were a Victor yourself!"

I smile. "Well, who knows? The Quell Reaping is tomorrow. Double the stakes!"

We meet each other's' eyes and say in unison, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Mr. Larkin's chuckle shakes us. "Why don't you girls go out and enjoy the day. I can take care of the shop."

Britta grins. "Thanks, Dad! Can I have some money for a pastry?"

He slides a few coins from his pocket over the counter. "Be back before dark, yeah?"

We promise and head for the door. It is just as we're walking out when a boy from the Seam walks in. He has the defining features: olive skin, grey eyes, dark hair.

"Hello," he says, coolly. "Is this the apothecary?"

Britta shakes the dreamy gaze out of her eyes and I bite back a laugh. I guess the guy is attractive: lean, tall, mysterious. "Right this way," Britta says, batting her eyelashes.

She takes him to the counter and slips behind. "What can I get for you?"

The guy smiles back. "Actually, I was hoping I could sell some things. I was…in the Meadow this morning and found a few herbs."

Maybe she doesn't notice the way that he hesitates before he says Meadow. Maybe she can't see the blisters on his hands from holding something. A bow, maybe. He's a hunter. I know that much.

Hunting is illegal in District 12, punishable by death. However, some of the Seam men risk it to put food on the table for their loved ones. I can't imagine how scary it would be to have to worry about a Peacekeeper catching you. Or, even, another member of District 12.

The Seam boy pulls out a bag of herbs and sets it on the counter. Inside are different kinds. Some I can name, some I can't. Dandelions, Chamomile. There must be twenty different herbs, just spread out on the Larkin's counter.

Britta's eyes widen. "You're Charles Everdeen, aren't you?"

He smiles. "Chuck."

Britta ends up giving Chuck some decent money for his herbs. I guess that some of them aren't easy to come by in District 12. He walks out with the promise that "There's more where that came from!"

"Isn't he dreamy?" Britta swoons as we head into the square. She hasn't stopped talking about him the whole time. How when she told him her name, he said it was beautiful. How he said he liked singing to mockingjays in the wood. "He _hunts_," she informs me under her breath as one of the Peacekeepers—Erando, I think—walks past us. "How sexy is that?"

We, giggling, walk into the bakery. As always, in the window are beautifully frosted cakes. Some have flowers on them, others have wishes: happy birthday, good luck. Maybe, someday, I'll have enough money to have a birthday cake like that.

The pastries and bread are up in a clear glass case in the front of the store. That way you can look at them all and decide which you want. Byron Mellark is standing behind the counter.

Ever since we were kids, I've had a sort of huge crush on Byron. His blue eyes, his cut blond hair, and his muscular build made him seem like the kind of guy you'd want to fight for you. Even so, he was one of the nicest people I'd ever met. He had a lovely laugh and a warm hug and we could talk for hours on end about absolutely nothing at all.

"Hello, Britta," he greets her with a nod. His eyes find mine and he smiles warmly. "Maysilee."

I blush, just a little. "Hello, Byron."

As Britta decides what she wanted to buy, Byron and I talk. "How many tickets for you in the reaping tomorrow?" he asks me.

"5," I say. It's all unfair, really. When you're 12, there's automatically a ticket with your name on it put into a pool. If you live in the Seam, or just plain aren't wealthy, you can opt for tesserae which is a meager supply of oil and grain each month. However, the amount of tickets put in is the same amount for each member of your family. So, say a fifteen-year-old girl lives in the Seam with her mother, father, and little brother. If she wants tesserae for each member of her family, her name gets put into the reaping pool 20 times. There's the initial four tickets, then the extra 16 for her family.

"May as well call it 10," Byron remins me.

"The Quell." Of course I forgot. Every 25 years, the Hunger Games get a bit of twist put on them. In the 25th Hunger Games, the districts had to vote on their tributes. Sending two children of your own flesh and blood to certain death? I'm ecstatic I didn't have to watch it. The Quell was announced a few months ago for the 50th Anniversary. Instead of 24 tributes, two from each district, going into the arena, there will be two boys and two girls from each district. "Double the stakes, double the chances, double the games," President Aitor promised.

Byron puts a warm hand over mine. "What's 10 compared to the Seam kids? And me? I've got 12."

I nod, not wanting to seem selfish. "You're right."

I bend down and choose a small raspberry cake, frosted with a leaf. It's almost too pretty to eat. I pass the coins across the table to Byron who takes them and puts them into the register. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

I nod again. "Bright and early."

"What will you be wearing? I want to try to find you after it's over."

Neither of us even operates on the idea that one of us will be chosen. We can't or we'll drive ourselves crazy with worry. "Pink," I say. "I'm going to be wearing a pink dress."

"Pink dress by the 16-year-olds. I think I can remember that."

We smile at each other as Britta pays for two cookies and a small bun coated in cinnamon. "To share," she insists.

As we walk out, Byron calls after us, "Happy Hunger Games!"

To which we reply in unison, "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Like yesterday, the sun is hot as it beats down on my neck. We're all standing in front of the stage as Dezba Halona explains about the history of the Hunger Games, the same story we've heard since before we can remember.

A long time ago, Panem was a place called North America. After a series of natural disasters, the Capitol made the thirteen districts of Panem. The Capitol—supposedly—gave us food and shelter while we provided them with necessary items: luxury items from 1, Peacekeeper training and military from 2, technology from 3, fish and seafood from 4, electricity from 5, transportation from 6, lumber from 7, textiles from 8, factories and grain from 9, livestock from 10, agriculture from 11, coal from 12, and weapons manufacturing from 13. However, as the story goes, the districts were ungrateful and rose up in a rebellion against the Capitol known as the Dark Days. The Capitol quenched the riots, putting the districts back in line, destroying 13 completely. As memory of how merciful the Capitol was for letting the rest of us live, they gave us the Hunger Games. Every year one boy and one girl from each district are pulled from a ballot of names to be sent into an arena to fight to the death. The last one alive wins and his or her district is showered in food and luxuries.

"And this year," continues Dezba, "there will be double the tributes! So, say it with me everyone! Double the stakes, double the chances, double the games!" No one else says it with her. In fact, everyone is silent. It's somewhat eerie.

She swallows. "Well, then. Let's begin! Ladies first!"

Her pink heels clack on the stage as she sashays over to the huge glass bowl of names. She sticks her perfectly manicured hand in and pulls out a sheet of paper. After moving her bright purple hair out of her eyes and adjusting her orange dress, she walks back to the microphone.

"Aida Salvadora!"

No one claps, but a skinny girl from the Seam steps out of the group of 18-year-olds. She walks, straight-backed up to the stage. Mayor Dux shakes her hand and she sits in one of the four chairs.

Dezba walks back over and pulls out another name. Again, a collective breath goes through the crowd. I think for a moment, _I hope it's not another Seam girl._

My twin sister Hadley grips my hand tightly. Britta stands beside me, gripping my other hand. I catch Byron's eyes across the square. He smiles. I turn my attention back to Dezba who clears her throat.

"Maysilee Donner."

Well, it wasn't a Seam girl.

It takes me a second, but I disengage myself from Britta and Hadley who are both sobbing uncontrollably. "You can go, Mays!" Hadley insists.

I walk up onto the stage and shake Mayor Dux's hand. As I sit, I see Byron's face. He has tears streaming down his cheeks. "No," he mouths. "Not you."

I want to mouth back, "I know," but if not me, who? Another Seam girl? Britta? Aida didn't deserve to get chosen any more than I did. It's just the odds of the draw. I just look back at Byron and blow him a kiss. He reaches up a hand and catches it in his hand, putting it to his lips.

Dezba continues on with the boys. The first one is scrawny with close-set eyes, bony limbs, and greasy hair. I know that kids in the seam don't have much, but most don't look this bad. He's my age and sits beside me. "Hi," he whispers in a voice that I assume is trying to sound seductive. "I'm Gerner Folco."

I turn my face away from Gerner Folco and meet Byron's eyes as Dezba calls the next name. "Haymitch Abernathy!"

I look at the group of sixteen year olds as a tall, burly guy with black curls disengages himself. He marches up the stairs of the stage with the look of a career, all eagerness and strength. He shakes Mayor Dux's hand fervently and even gives Dezba a kiss on her cheek. He meets my eyes with silver ones. "Let the games begin," he entices.

I have competition.


End file.
